


Shed

by Lady_Cleo



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/Lady_Cleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long, golden spiraled strand flutters in the air as it dangles from beneath his fingernail, and he frowns at the sight. It may be the first time ever he's ever been less than happy to see it. What was Alex's hair doing in his shirt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wrapped Up In You

Matt stretches in the early morning light and pulls himself out of bed. _Another glorious day in Cardiff..._ he thinks. Though actually, it's not that bad. The weather has taken a turn for the warm, hitting double digit temps that **don't** begin with a 2, and the wind has died down to a meek whistle. Plus, he's the Doctor, and filming with the best cast, crew and Evil Scottish Overload anyone could ask for. The fact that he gets to be within swooning distance of Ms  Alex Kingston is icing on the cake. The fact that he gets to _snog_ her on occasion, and flirt with her on a daily basis when she's around, is the cool swirly frosting on top of the icing. And the fact that he gets to spend time with her off set as well- having floor picnics, going for drinks at Kazza's, subtly ogling her at table reads, playing the Uncomfortable Touch Game (which she usually wins)- to the point where he dreams about her more than he should... well, that's the flaming cherry surprise topping that tops the rest.

Wandering through the minefield of abandoned clothing on his floor, trying to focus on the remnants of his most recent unconscious liaison, he grabs the shirt nearest to his foot and tugs it on. It's his Arcade Fire shirt, although it doesn't seem quite where he remembers tossing it. However, as is often the case this many weeks into filming, any inconsistencies in object placement, cupboard supplies, and personal hygeine regimens can be chalked up to how ridiculously knackered he is. In any case the fabric is soft against his skin, like a caress, and he instantly thinks of Alex again.

A smile hits his face just as a shiver hits his spine, and it takes a moment to realize it is not his typical delight at the thought of her that's making him do it. There is a tickle between his shoulder blades, as though someone were _barely_ brushing a feather or fingernail on the small patch of skin. The sensation grows maddening as it turns to a subtle itch and Matt shuffles his shoulders up and down trying to alleviate the bizarre feeling.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he jams one arm down the back of his shirt, finally scratching to a state of relief before extricating the mild irritant. A long, golden spiraled strand flutters in the air as it dangles from beneath his fingernail, and he frowns at the sight. It may be the first time ever he's ever been less than happy to see it. _What was Alex's hair doing in his shirt?_ He frequently finds the delicate tendrils on his couch and clothes and tucked into sections of wardrobe. After a particularly long filming session where they flirted back to back, he'd even shampooed a few that were tangled up in his own floppy locks. But in his clothes? This was new. _In_ implies she'd been in his shirt- and a secondary sniff at the neckline reveals traces of her signature scent lingering on the fabric. No wonder she'd popped onto his mind afresh once he'd donned it.

But the details, the _what where when why and how,_ are still a mystery. His mind's refusal to hunt for clues without sufficient caffeination- and the realization that he's needed on set shortly- prompt him to shove his feet into socks which undoubtedly don't match and slug to the kitchen for tea and toast before grabbing his jacket and heading to work. Once his brain snaps out of the momentary freeze set upon him by the Welsh weather, he starts to think. He thinks when he arrives in the makeup trailer (completely missing the makeup girls' pleasant surprise at his uncustomary lack of fidgeting), and thinks while he's retrieving the day's costume, and thinks when he's supposed to be final-running his script before the day's first pick-up (to the delighted shock of the crew, who are used to him tripping over things rather than quietly sitting in one place.) And the more he puzzles over the Kingston Curl Conundrum, the more tiny things begin slotting into place in his mind.

Alex's comment she hadn't been sleeping well, when she'd arrived back earlier in the week for filming... the drinks party Kaz had insisted on hosting at Matt's to celebrate "River's return"... Alex coming back from the loo clutching her sweater tightly around her before excusing herself and dashing off to bed... the way the shirt had been nowhere to be found when he'd thought to turn it into laundry a few days later. They were all little things that normally might go unnoticed, but that started to make a certain sort of sense when considered together.

Early in the evening, following nine scenes and a hot lunch, Matt is pulling out of Whovian wardrobe with the shirt in question back on his back- when a renewed tickle at the base of his spine brings a new memory. _While walking up to the block of flats two days prior, Matt had heard a slammed door and scrabbling noises as he approached the hallway. There stood Alex, poised outside his door with her hand on the knob and a guilty expression on her flushed face. "Oh. Sorry. I was... making tea, and I realized I'm... out of milk. So I thought I'd check yours." He had made it exactly 2 steps closer before she'd said "but never mind!" with a flustered wave of her hand and a flurry of curls as she'd dashed back to her own to change._ _Fearing something was wrong and wanting to give her a chance to talk, h_ _e'd stuck by her the rest of the night- only to end up saying his good night to the back of her head when she dashed after dinner to skype with Salome._

Shaking his head as he bursts out of the wardrobe trailer, he nearly collides with Alex, who's holding a sleeve in her hand. They dance for a minute, unintentionally getting in one another's way, until she puts a hand on his chest and pushes him out of the doorway to let her pass. He tries to ignore the prickle of awareness in his spine, the sting from her hurried departure, the slight tingle where she touched him through the shirt, the faint rush of scent that hits his nose in her wake. But as he stands there, gawping at the space she'd just occupied, another thought comes creeping in from his subconscious: the "dream" he'd had yesterday. _He'd been napping, deciding the short trip to the flats was worth it against the time until he was needed again on set. Even though he normally crashed in his trailer on breaks, to stay onhand, the Moff had insisted he take the break and get some rest. Stretched out on top of the covers, face pressed into a pillow, he was just drifting off when he'd heard something- or rather thought he had. A soft gasp, a whoosh, a faint sound of something hitting something else, the distant click of a door sliding home. He had chalked it up to a dream, being much revived by his nap and relieved that Alex admitted that morning she'd been sleeping so much better..._

The pieces of the puzzle really only fit one way, and the way they fit really only makes one picture, but the idea is so fantastical that Matt can't quite bring himself to buy it. Alex, the Kingston herself, had nicked his shirt (an oldie of his, with a few days wear on it by the time it had hit the floor), worn it to fall asleep until her own scent began to supplant his own, then returned it only to narrowly avoid getting caught in his flat (spotting him out the window and running before she could put it back, finding him in bed and managing to move quietly enough not to wake or alert him.)

He gets strange looks from the crew while he's waiting for his driver to take him off set, since he's wrapped for the day ahead of the rest of Team TARDIS. Karen has been shooting him dirty looks in his civilian gear, griping in her Scotch way about 'early parole' and telling him to stop being so damn smug. Arthur walks past with a stack of paper teacups for himself and the girls, and stops to punch his shoulder before carrying on. It knocks him out of his reverie long enough to note Cam's arrival, and as he reaches for the back door, he catches his reflection in the tinted windowpane. He's grinning like a mad idiot: gleeful, delighted and a bit diabolical. It's only fitting, he supposes; he's hatching a plan in his cranium that is probably at least _half_ crazy, but the situation is so bizarre he can't bring himself to care. If Alex needs something of his to cuddle to get to sleep, he'll _give_ her something to cuddle.


	2. Snug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all is revealed when Alex comes home...

That night, getting out of shooting an hour before she does, he rushes back to their block of flats, showering swiftly, donning a clean shirt and grabbing a spare that’s a few days worn.  He slips into Alex’s flat (really, with the lax security among the friends, it’s a wonder they’ve never come home to rabid fans in their living rooms) and pads down to her bedroom. The slightly gamey shirt is neatly folded and laid on her pillow as Matt strips down to boxers and climbs under the covers. He'd meant to wait up for her, really he had. But the warm covers so softly scented with Alex call for his tired self to just relax a bit, and before he knows it, he's drifted off on a cloud of Kingston...

* * *

When Alex arrives back that evening, she's stretching kinks out of her tired body and willing herself to unwind enough to get some sleep. She doesn't feel like anything other than oblivion and a hot shower- a bath being out of the question with a 7 am call.

 _Something_  is amiss as she wanders through the flat, but she can't quite put her finger on it... until she pushes her bedroom door open and stops dead at the charmingly strange sight that greets her. Matt is in her bed. Matt Smith. Her adorably uncoordinated, sexy baby giraffe of a costar. Occasional leading man in her fantasies. Is in. her. bed.

Alex shakes her head, just in case she's hallucinating from exhaustion but no- the sight remains unchanged when she looks again, this time registering a few things at once. He doesn't have a shirt on. He's lying on the far side of the bed (interestingly enough, the side she never occupies) as though he belongs there. His face is curled into the edge of her pillow, which is topped with a dark rectangle of... something. And he's out cold, one arm flung onto her side of the covers, letting out little noises through his open mouth and looking like a kid in his parents' bed.

She shoves **that** thought down, thank you very much, and tries to make sense of this unusual turn of events. _Nothing doing, Kingston,_ her tired brain taunts. Figuring he’ll be alright and knowing she’ll get answers one way or another, she pads down to the bathroom and showers off the day. She emerges in a soft flannel dressing gown, towel drying her hair to avoid waking him with the blow-dryer.

She balances on the edge of her side of the bed, toes of one foot pressed into the hardwood as she regards his still sleeping form. Pushing those wayward bangs of his back towards his temple, her eyes draw to the rectangle on her pillow and her fingers slip down to brush over the object. Impossibly soft material caresses her fingertips, and she seizes it up gently, letting it fall open in her grasp. It's one of Matt's obscure band shirts, well worn and well-loved, a small hole in the shoulder seam near her index finger. She stares at it uncomprehendingly for a moment before a subtle tease of scent wafts to her nose. Stealing a gaze to her right to check that he's still blissfully unconscious, she buries her face in the fabric and inhales the delicious combination: detergent, deodorant, soap, sweat, and an indefinable essence that is uniquely Matt.

The time softened fabric is pressed to her cheeks, enveloping her in a delicate caress the way his hands do when they kiss. She’s halfway through her third lungful, and has turned her head to press the shirt to one cheek, rubbing against the fabric like a kitten when she hears a noise and freezes. Her eyes open to find Matt watching her with a look of drowsy amusement.

"Enjoying yourself, Kingston?" His voice is thick with sleep and a bit tickled, and the hot blush that creeps up her neck towards her cheeks is evidence of her mortification at being caught.

"Don't be," he mumbles into her pillow before rolling onto his back. "What?" "Embarrassed." _Oh, God had she spoken aloud??_   "I brought it over just for you. The one I've had on since my shower is over there on your chair, but I figured I'd wear that another day or two before I handed it over."

Unable to quite believe what she's hearing, Alex realizes the shirt is still tangled in her fingers and her mouth is hanging open. "But... I just- wait, _what?_ " She must be more out of it than she'd thought; he's making zero sense right now. "Honestly, Alex. If I'd known you needed something to cuddle, I'd have offered my services the moment your plane touched down." Her eyes go wide, glowing faintly in the dim moonlight streaming through the blinds.

"I... I was afraid to ask. I worried you'd think I was... you know, some pathetic old lady who couldn'-" "Oi. Stop right there." He's popped up to a sitting position, propped against her headboard, and his hands are on hers in the time it takes to breathe, thumbs tracing little circles over her pulsepoints. If he notices the erratic spiking, he doesn't comment.

"Alex, you are the most amazing, beautiful, _distracting_ female I have ever known - age regardless - and you put women half your age to shame. You are brilliant and timeless and I... well," he breaks off and lets go of one hand to scratch at his cheek- a darling tell that he's feeling self-conscious. "It's not exactly like fantasizing about my mum when I think about you."

Her barely subsided blush blooms full force at that statement and she drops her gaze to the shirt now clutched in their hands. "So this is... for me? To sleep in?" She giggles at the thought, and he replies in mock indignation. "I'll have you know that's the best smelling of my unclean linens there, Kingston. Only the best for you."

She’s still embarrassed but he plays it off and makes her a deal. If she promises to talk to him when she needs to and makes him dinner twice a week, he’ll give her the shirts he wears under his costumes- swapping them out every few days so the scent will be fresh and strong without being gross.

“Or you could just sleep here. The smell of you would be ten times better in person. Probably more effective too.” He doesn’t know how to respond to that, mouth going goldfish for a few moments as she sits with her lower lip in her teeth… holding her breath. She’s holding her breath because that wasn’t just a flirt, not just a line tossed out with a saucy wink. She's serious... and if the gulp Matt gives is any indicator, he's just realised he is too. So he smiles, pulling the covers in her corner down a bit, and gestures her in. “Well, Kingston, I am already here. Be a shame to let me go to waste.”

She’s still worrying her bottom lip, the way she does when she’s nervous, and it’s so endearing Matt feels his heart swell a bit. (Or rather, a bit more, since anyone who’s spent 5 minutes in the Kingston’s presence and _not_ succumbed at least partially to her charms was clearly an inhuman numpty.) Then she smiles, a small tentative curve of her lips, and she disappears back down the hall, his t-shirt in her clutches.

She emerges a few minutes later- teeth brushed, hair combed, wearing clean cotton knickers, Matt’s shirt, and a shy expression. The covers have been properly turned down now that she’s not pinning them beneath her, and she realizes she's about to climb into bed with her half naked, much younger costar in only her knickers and his shirt. The thought doesn't scare her nearly as much as it should, and she slips in beside him, letting him tuck her in when she finally relaxes enough to lay down.

It’s side by side silence that stretches for a while before she turns away from him, scooting back halfway across the space between. She’s waiting. Matt approaches slowly, gently sliding an arm beneath her pillow and the other around her ribcage. Their fingers thread together and she snuggles back a bit closer. Her riotous hair tickles his cheek as he settles, and he takes a moment to let the scent of her wash over him and flood his senses before nestling them together like spoons in a drawer. They let out a synchronized sigh and feel the remaining bit of tension ebb out with the exhalation, before they share a breathless laugh in the darkness at their timing. Matt presses a kiss into her curls and they whisper their good nights.

* * *

A well placed sunbeam hits him in the eye the next morning, dragging him awake to the sight of Alex curled up asleep in his shirt... and his arms. He yanks the curtain shut with his toes and snuggles back down under the covers. The alarm is due to go off any minute, but he wants to hold her a little while longer, committing every bit of this to memory.

It becomes a common thing, him sleeping over. It's a nightly occurance on normal days, and they meet daily for naps once the night schedule starts. Alex always makes him sleep bare-chested (not that he minds) for 'unobstructed aro-Matt-therapy' and rolls her eyes when he laughs at the phrase, sending him swooning into her pillows at the sight of it. Matt still teases her from time to time about the curl that told on her for swiping his shirt, but she just points out in her Kingston wisdom that if it weren't for that hair, they wouldn't be where they are now. And of course, she's right.

But that first time remains extra special for them, unparalleled by any other night or nap they share. It's the best night's sleep either of them has had in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there's my ending. hope you liked it. it was quite fun to write.  
> Happy Valentine's, sweeties!

**Author's Note:**

> my friends are always complaining about my hair all over the place, and it turns up in the darnedest places. it got me to thinking, what if Alex's hair did the same thing? and what would it mean if it ended up somewhere... a bit unusual?  
> hope you like. more is on the way.


End file.
